


The last person

by stjarna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Grief, Minor Character Death, Minor Character Death not described in fic, Tumblr: thefitzsimmonsnetwork, early season 2 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:17:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9067408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: Set in early Season 2 (while Jemma is still undercover at Hydra).Written for contraryrhythm as part of The Fitzsimmons Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr.Her prompt: Jemma is afraid that she's lost Fitz. (Interpret however you like--basically I'd just like to see Jemma worried about him and/or their relationship and fighting for him!).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [contraryrhythm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/contraryrhythm/gifts).



> It felt a bit weird writing this fic. I love the story, yet the topic seemed a bit dark for a Secret Santa fic, but contraryrhythm assured her Secret Santa (aka me) that she likes angst with a happy end and that I could make her cry (as long as I don't kill Fitzsimmons themselves)... and my wonderful beta reader dilkirani also approved of the story.... sooooooo.... Here you go... (and I'm sorry for my dark and angsty mind... a little bit).

He enters the house late at night, after the taxi that cost him a small fortune drops him off. It’s been more than a year since he entered the house. It was before S.H.I.E.L.D. fell; before all of them became ghosts; before the sea drowned a part of himself. She had welcomed him then, smiling, pulling him into one of her bone-breaking hugs.

Now all that welcomes him is her lingering scent. As soon as the door falls into its lock behind him he stops, rooted to the spot, as if a glass wall prevents him from moving any further. He stares at the hallway, the pictures on the walls, her coat on the hanger, her shoes neatly lined up on the floor. And the reality he had tried to deny ever since Coulson pulled him into his office a mere 16 hours earlier hits him with a force he doesn’t expect.

She’s gone. It’s just him now. No one left. He breaks down on the carpet that she loved so much. First he screams. Then he cries. Then, when exhaustion and jetlag get the better of him, he falls asleep in the middle of the hallway, next to the bag he had hastily packed.

His head is still cloudy when he wakes up; his eyes still burn from the tears he had shed. He pushes himself up to half-sitting. Formulating thoughts had been difficult enough for him in the past few months. Now it felt like there were no thoughts left at all. He feels Jemma’s comforting hand on his shoulder but pushes it away.  _ Not now. You’re not real. You’re gone, too. _

His heart starts racing when he hears a key being pushed into the lock. He scrambles up and pulls open the door.

A weak smile flashes across the face looking back at him — a face he hasn’t seen in years.

“Hey, Curly Sue,” the young woman says. “Looks like the gossip train was right and you arrived last night.”

He can’t hold back his tears any longer, and his knees buckle beneath him. His trembling hands reach for her and she pulls him into a hug. She doesn’t say anything, just allows him to grieve.

When he can’t cry anymore, he pushes himself away from her. She uses her fingers to wipe away some of his tears and gently strokes his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Curly,” she says, her voice wavering.

He hopes his eyes convey his thanks, since his lips refuse to speak.

She looks beyond him into the house. “You didn’t make it past the hallway, did you?”

Silently, he shakes his head.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” she asks. “I know a nice spot.”

A faint smile flashes across his face. He nods, steps outside, and pulls the door shut. She grabs the key that’s still stuck in the lock, links her arm with his, and slowly and silently they take the path they used to walk together ever since they were children, down the quiet street, until the edge of town, up the little hill, to the big triumphant tree.

The ground is damp, covered in autumn leaves, but they sit down like they’ve always done, both leaning their backs against the wide trunk of the tree, their bodies touching, her head resting on his shoulder.

“I’m in town from London,” Moira says. “My dad’s birthday was Wednesday. Your mum was there, too, but she left early. Said she felt tired. She forgot her scarf, so my girlfriend and I went over to her house in the morning to drop it off. I knew something was wrong when she didn’t open the door.”

He blinks away tears, as his childhood friend recounts how they found his mum lying on the bathroom floor. How Moira’s parents had taken care of all funeral preparations, not quite knowing when or if Fitz would be able to show up.

They sit in silence for a while. Fitz stares into the landscape. He had forgotten what it felt like to sit with her like this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

She lifts her head from his shoulder and looks at him. “What for?”

He looks into her eyes. “Not st-staying in touch,” he replies, trying his best to hide his stutter.

She smiles. “No worries, Curly Sue,” she answers. “I didn’t exactly hold up my end of the bargain either.” She takes a deep breath. “We were sixteen! You went to the States to learn how to engineer things that could save the world one day. I went to London to learn how to sing and dance for people. Our lives are so different. It’s not surprising that our lovely naïve plan of writing each other every day fell flat pretty quickly. And I think that’s okay. You’re one of those people where no matter how much time has passed, when you see them again, it’s like nothing has changed.”

“A lot… has changed,” he counters.

“Your mum mentioned that you have this super close friend. Gina? Is that the one you wrote me about your first year in the States?” Moira asks.

“H-her name is… Jemma,” he corrects her.

“Right, sorry,” she apologizes. “I thought maybe she’d be here with you.”

“Sh-sh-she left.” It takes effort to say these words, even more than usual.

“What happened to you, Curly?” Moira asks full of concern. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“You got a few h-hours?” he tries to joke.

“I got all the time in the world, Curly Sue,” she replies in all seriousness, and squeezes his hand. “My parents know I wanted to check on you. My girlfriend had to head back to London yesterday and will be busy all day with rehearsals and performances. So go ahead and fill me in on the past ten years of your life.”

It makes him chuckle. He takes a deep breath. “I-I’m an agent of S.H.-S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he begins.


	2. Chapter 2

She had immediately known something was wrong when Coulson stood in her kitchen. Yes, that’s where he always greeted her when he checked on her, but his first words were always a funny remark of some sort. This time he didn’t say anything, but his eyes spoke volumes. They spoke of sadness and sorrow.

Her heart stopped beating. She was convinced something had happened to Fitz. And in a way she was right, because even though he himself wasn’t physically harmed, wasn’t dead, she knew that losing his mother must have felt like dying himself. She was in shock when Coulson finished talking. Surprised that he didn’t fight her when she said she wanted to go to Scotland. He encouraged her. Told her she should tell her superiors at Hydra that there had been a death in the family. It wasn’t even lying.

She couldn’t sleep on the plane. Her mind kept wandering back to the last time she had seen his mum, the last time she had seen him, back to being trapped with him at the bottom of the ocean, back to his confession, back to his lifeless body lying in a hospital bed, back to his anger and frustration. Her heart was storing enough words to fill a whole library of things she wanted to tell him, and yet she had no idea what she would say once she saw him. All she knew was that she needed to see him, needed to be there  _ for _ him,  _ with _ him.  _ She _ needed him. The question was if he was willing to need her.

The taxi arrives in the small Scottish town. She grabs her bag from the trunk and watches the car leave. It’s still early on a Saturday; the streets are quiet and almost completely deserted. She looks at the red entrance door. It had always been one of the most welcoming homes she had ever visited. Now her heart beats against her chest, her feet unwilling to cross the street and ring the bell. Quietly she sits down on a bench across from the house and stares at the façade, the neatly painted white windows, the red door. Tears burn her eyes, and for the first time since Coulson told her, she allows herself to cry, burying her face in her hands.

“You’re Jemma, aren’t you?”

Jemma jolts up, her surprised heart beating even faster. She looks at the young woman looking down at her, the red curly hair and friendly green eyes. Something about her is familiar.

“I’m Moira,” the woman says.

“Oh,” Jemma says, a shy smile creeping onto her lips. “I thought you lived in London.”

Moira smiles at her. “So you know who I am.” It’s not a question as much as an observation.

“It almost feels like I’ve known you all my life,” Jemma replies. “And you seem to know who I am as well.”

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you… Most of it yesterday, actually,” Moira says. “You’ve changed your hair though, compared to the pictures he showed me.”

Nervously, Jemma tucks her shoulder-length hair behind her ears. “Yes. I had it cut.”

“I’m sorry that I startled you,” Moira apologizes and sits down on the bench next to Jemma. “I was in the kitchen, making tea for myself and I looked outside and saw you sitting there and well…you were crying and I thought maybe you needed a little nudge. Someone to welcome you inside.”

“Were you here all night?” Jemma asks, unsure where the hint of jealousy in her voice is coming from.

“I stayed in the guest room,” Moira answers. “I didn’t want to leave him alone. We talked a lot. I think that was good for him. He seems so broken. At first I thought it was just because of his mum, but the more he told me, the more I realized that… well, this was just the last in a long series of punches to the gut.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Everything,” Moira replies, shrugging her shoulders. “And before you start worrying about him talking about secret spy stuff with me, I’m a dancer. Who am I gonna tell about alien viruses and secret organizations and being left for dead at the bottom of the ocean? All that crazy stuff that happened...I can barely believe it’s true, but I know he wouldn’t lie.”

Jemma nods understandingly. “Does he know I’m here?”

“No,” Moira shakes her head. “He was still asleep. Or at least upstairs in his room. Why don’t you come in? You should be there.”

Jemma nods in silence. Quietly the two women stand up and walk over to the red door.

“Looks like he’s still upstairs,” Moira comments once they’re inside. “Do you want me to check on him or — ”

“I’ll go,” Jemma says, taking off her shoes in the hallway. She wishes she sounded more confident.

Each step up the stairs is slow, as if an invisible force holds her back. Carefully, a hint of hesitation in her movements, Jemma opens the door to his bedroom. He is lying on his side, still asleep. She walks over to the bed. Tears shoot to her eyes. The memories of months away from him seem even more painful now that she sees his face again.

Every cell in her body is being drawn to him. She’s not quite sure where her instincts are taking her or if she’s overstepping her boundaries, but carefully she lifts the blanket and lies down next to him. She rests her hand on top of his and breathes in his familiar scent. She closes her eyes, and within minutes she drifts off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

She had never been there right when he woke up. Not lying next to him. He wouldn’t allow his mind to go that far, to turn her into something she had never been and would never be. She had always appeared at breakfast or in the lab, when he stood idly by while everyone around him was busy being productive, being useful. She had been there, supporting him, reassuringly touching his shoulder. And yet, lately, he had tried to push the illusion of her away. He knew she wasn’t real. And slowly he had started to believe that maybe he could do without her.  _ Needed _ to do without her.

Now he had woken up with her lying right next to him holding his hand. She had never been there when he woke up.

He studies her face. It looks sad and peaceful at the same time. Her hair is loose, not in the tight ponytail she’s been wearing for months. That’s when he realizes it. It’s not the vision he had built of her in his mind. It’s a person he thought he knew better than anyone else, a person who now felt like a complete stranger.

In shock he pulls his hand away from her and sits up in bed. “What are you doing here?” he exclaims and the sleeping body next to him stirs and opens her eyes.

She smiles hesitantly. “Fitz!”

“Get up!” he barks. “This is my… my bed. M-my room.” He scrambles to get out of the bed on the other side. “What are you doing here?” he repeats.

She gets up. “Fitz, I’m here because… I needed to come. I couldn’t just… I want to be there for you, I — ”

“You left!” he yells, interrupting her. “I-I needed help. I needed  _ you _ and you… you left! You gave up on me. You c-can’t just come back! You have no b-business being here! You left! You left!” he repeats over and over.

“I was undercover at Hydra!” she explains.

He hears what she says, and yet he can only focus on one word. “You told me you  _ weren’t  _ Hydra. That I’d  _ never _ have to w-worry about that.”

“I’m  _ not _ Hydra,” she corrects him. “I’m  _ undercover _ . Coulson — ”

“You left,” he yells again. “You lied! You told me you were gonna go see your mum and your dad, and then you went off to ... for all I ... for all I know, you could ... something could’ve ... you could’ve been killed. And because what? B-because you think I'm useless?”

“Of course I don’t. That’s not why — ”

“You couldn’t take it,” he interrupts her. “You… you couldn’t even talk to me anymore. Couldn’t even f-face me.”

“No. Fitz. No, that’s not true.”

“Get out!” he screams, grabbing his alarm clock from the nightstand and throwing it against the wall next to her where it shatters. She cries out in fear.

“Curly!” Moira yells, rushing through the door towards him, past Jemma who’s covering her mouth with her hand, tears streaming down her face.

Moira grabs his shoulders, but his eyes still focus on Jemma, her pale face, shocked eyes, tense body. He’s breathing heavily, welling up, unsure what just happened, unsure what he’d done,  _ why _ he’d done it.

“Curly!” Moira repeats, forcing him to look at her. She pushes him to sit down on the bed and he doesn’t resist, can’t resist. Moira turns towards Jemma. “Maybe it’s better if you leave for a little bit,” she suggests calmly.

Jemma nods quietly. Her eyes land one last time on Fitz before she hastily leaves the room.

Her hands still on his shoulders, Moira focuses back on Fitz. “Why did you do that?” she asks.

“I wasn’t t-trying to hit her with… with the clock,” he mumbles, his breathing still heavy and agitated.

“I know,” she replies, sitting down next to him on the bed. “But why, Curly? Why did you get so upset?”

“She left,” he mutters, fighting back tears.

“And now she came back,” Moira counters.

“She left,” he repeats, defeated.

Moira reaches around him and pulls him closer, allowing him to rest his head on her shoulder, letting his tears fall freely. “Why did she leave?” he sobs. “Why is she back now? I d-don’t want her pity. I d-don’t…”

“I don’t think pity has anything to do with it,” Moira says, as her soothing fingers curl through his hair. “Everything you told me about her yesterday… You were inseparable. I may not know  _ why _ she left, but you don’t just leave a friendship like that behind. We haven’t been in touch for—what?—eight-nine-ten years or something? Didn’t mean I forgot you. Didn’t mean I stopped being your friend. Didn’t mean I stopped calling you Curly Sue.” He chuckles briefly. “It meant that when you came back and you needed a friend, I was here, because our time apart didn’t change anything. And somehow I doubt that a few months apart means she forgot about the  _ years _ you had before that. She didn’t come back here out of pity. She came back here because she  _ wants _ to be there for you. I think maybe she even came here because she needs you right now just as much as you need her.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he mumbles quietly. “I’d never want… want to hurt her.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jemma sits on the same bench as before, staring at the same red door, the same white windows. But her heart is even more devastated and doubting than before. She’s so tired and distraught that she’s even lost the energy to cry.

The red door opens eventually and Moira walks over to her.

“How is he?” Jemma asks, full of concern.

“He’s calmed down,” the young woman replies and sits down next to Jemma.

Jemma’s eyes wander back to the house, and her heart stops for a moment when she sees him looking back at her through the kitchen window. Her lips begin to tremble, torn between the happiness of simply seeing his face and the sadness of knowing how he had reacted to seeing her.

“He didn’t mean to hurt you.” She hears Moira, but can’t get herself to look away from the window.

“I know,” Jemma mumbles sadly. She closes her eyes, trying to push the tears that are creeping up back below the surface. She bites her lower lip. “I’ve missed him so much,” her wavering voice whispers.

“He misses you too,” Moira replies, placing her hand on Jemma’s back.

Jemma feels like she should be startled by the sensation. Everything she knew about Moira was from Fitz’s stories. They had never met. They’re strangers and yet she seems so familiar, so close, the only person still linking her to him. Jemma exhales sharply, her breath trembling as much as her voice.

“I sat by him for nine days,” Jemma begins. She’s not sure why she needs to tell Moira her story. She just knows she has to. “Nine of the longest days of my life. He was so pale. And I was so scared. So scared that I’d never hear his voice again. See his smile. I wasn’t ready to lose him. I couldn’t imagine my life without him. I didn’t want to. I prayed for him to wake up. I don’t even believe in a higher entity, but I prayed, because I didn’t know what else to do.” She shrugs her shoulders and looks down at the palm of her left hand, absentmindedly stroking it with the fingers of her right, feeling her nerves react to the gentle touch.

“First I thought I was imagining it,” she says. “When his fingers twitched in my hand. I’ll never forget that feeling. It was like a jolt. Like someone had breathed life back into me.”

She chuckles sadly. “And then he woke up and he looked so confused and he couldn’t speak and he could barely move and he was so… desperate and angry. In the weeks and months that followed he… he tried so hard to go back to who he was. And I knew he was doing it for  _ me _ . He tried to be the man I used to know. He thought that’s what  _ I _ wanted.”

She lets out a deep sigh. “I tried to help him move forward because he  _ has _ changed and he  _ can’t _ go back, and there’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing wrong with  _ him _ . He’s just… different, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” She shakes her head. “But he was so frustrated and mad and desperate to move backwards and… I realized that I was making him worse. Because somehow he was doing it all for me.”

She wipes away tears that have snuck up while she spoke. “So when Coulson asked me if I would be willing to go undercover, I thought it would be the right thing… to take myself out of the equation. I thought it’d give him a chance to move  _ forward _ .”

She pauses. “I know it was wrong to just leave without really saying goodbye, but… it hurt so much.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, fighting back more tears but losing the battle with every word she speaks. “I didn’t  _ want _ to say goodbye. I didn’t  _ want _ to leave. I thought I  _ had _ to. For  _ him _ . So that he would try to get better for himself rather than for me.”

Her eyes wander back to the house. His silhouette is still visible at the kitchen window. “But instead of making him better, I made it all worse.” She buries her face in her hands. “He hates me,” she sobs.

Moira’s hand gently squeezes her shoulder. “He could never hate you,” she says. “Quite the opposite.”

Jemma looks at Moira, wanting to believer her yet unable to. Once again, she stares at the house with the red door, the window hiding his face. Knowing it is the only place her heart longs to be.

“You love him, don’t you?” Moira asks.

“Of course I do,” Jemma replies quietly, and forces herself to look at Moira. “I just…” Her gaze wanders to the ground. “I didn’t know what kind of love it was, because I never thought about it.” She shrugs her shoulders. “It wasn’t something I considered because, I don’t know, it didn’t occur to me… it seemed like we had everything we needed… we had our work, our friendship. We had  _ us _ .”

“And now he opened a Pandora’s box by admitting that he felt more for you than just friendship when you guys were trapped at the bottom of the ocean,” Moira adds.

“No,” Jemma interjects. “No, it’s not a Pandora’s box, it’s a box of  _ possibilities _ , but because of what happened things got so—”

“Complicated,” Moira finishes.

“Yes,” Jemma admits. “And I couldn’t… there was never a right moment to tell him, because he needed to focus on  _ himself _ , not me and… I don’t know. I did everything wrong. I ruined it all. And I don’t know what to do.”

She shakes her head. “I miss him. I miss him so much. And I want to be  _ here _ . Nowhere else. I want to help him and… I want  _ him _ to help  _ me _ , because … he’s the one with the heart.” She looks at Moira, a smile appearing on her face. “He’s the one who knows how to love so openly and honestly and I didn’t even notice it but… Gosh, I’m rambling on and on… I’m not making sense at all.” She buries her face in her hands, digging her fingers into her cheeks to massage away some of her tension.

Moira chuckles. “You make a lot more sense than you think you do.”

Jemma looks back up. “He’s the last one!” she states matter-of-factly.

“And  _ now _ you’ve stopped making sense,” Moira replies, looking confused.

Jemma takes a deep breath. “When we were at the Academy together… well, one time I broke things off with this guy I’d been dating and, well, I wasn’t particularly devastated or anything but… Fitz and I still talked about it and at some point I asked him if he had ever  _ truly _ been in love and he said no. Just like that. He didn’t even  _ think _ about it. When I asked him how he could be so sure, he said that his mum always said that ‘The last person you fall in love with is the first person you fall in love with.’”

A smile flashes across Moira’s face. “That sounds like something she would have said.”

“Yes,” Jemma agrees. “Fitz said he hadn’t found that last person yet, so he couldn’t have been truly in love yet… I don’t know, it’s something that’s always stuck with me.”

“So you think he’s your last person to fall in love with?” Moira asks.

“No,” Jemma replies. “I  _ know _ he is. I don’t think I’ve ever been more certain about anything in my life.”

Moira sighs. “Look, I don’t know if he’s ready to talk to you. I know he  _ wants _ to. God, he sooo wants to have you there. He needs you. I mean, his mum was the  _ only _ family he had, and I was his only true friend growing up, and from what I’ve heard you’re his  _ everything _ now… but he’s scared because you left… and I don’t think he understands  _ why _ you left… he doesn’t know  _ any _ of what you just told me. He thinks you left  _ because _ he couldn’t go back to who he was and  _ you _ couldn’t take it.”

“No, that’s not—” Jemma tries to interject.

“I know,” Moira interrupts her. “I understand that now.” She pauses and inhales slowly. “Could I suggest something?”

Jemma nods.

“I don’t think he’s ready to listen to what you have to say. He wants to, but he’s not ready,” Moira explains. “But he  _ might _ listen to me. So… will you trust me to talk to him?”

“Yes,” Jemma says without hesitation. “I know he trusts you with everything. And I trust him. So, by extension…”

Moira smiles and nods. “You’ve been to my mum’s place?” she asks.

“Yes,” Jemma replies.

“Stay with her, okay?” Moira suggests. “She has the best memory when it comes to people. If she’s met you within the past 25 years, she’ll remember everything from your name to your favorite dessert. You can have my room. I’ll stay with Curly until tomorrow.”

“The funeral is tomorrow,” Jemma observes.

“I know. And I know there is so much you want to tell him. And I know you’re not willing to give up on what you had or what you could have. I know you want to be there for him, but you said it yourself:  _ this _ , right now, is about  _ him _ . Give him time. He has  _ a lot _ of things to process.”

Quietly, Jemma nods. She looks at the young woman sitting next to her. “I know why he likes you,” she admits.

Moira chuckles. “And I know why he loves you.”


	5. Chapter 5

The weather is cool. Gray. A misty rain drizzles on the small group of people standing next to the open grave. Brown leaves are scattered on the damp ground. Moira stands next to him, her arm linked with his. He stares at the dark, rectangular hole, watching his mother’s coffin slowly disappear. He had cried at church, had cried during the sermon. But now, somehow, all his tears have vanished. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe his mind and body had surrendered to the idea of eternal grief. Maybe it was easier not to feel anything anymore.

One by one, people pay his mum their last respects. One by one, they walk up to him, shaking his hand, expressing their condolences. It is only a small group of people, yet it seems as if the handshakes will never stop. His motions are automated. Shake hand, nod, force a grateful smile. He doesn’t see their faces. Doesn’t hear their words. A fog woven from sadness and despair clouds his mind, keeping him isolated. The only thing stopping him from floating away into the abyss is Moira’s grounding hand on his back, stroking gently up and down.

He’s so trapped in his own lonely world that it takes him a moment to notice when the line ends. The indistinct faces before him disappear and all that is left is the rectangular hole in the ground and the even bigger hole cut from his heart.

“Want to be alone for a little bit?” Moira’s voice cuts through the fog.

He forces his eyes away from his mother’s grave, turning his head to look at Moira. He nods quietly. Then his eyes drift off to the distance, and his heart—which seems to have stood still for days—begins to beat rapidly as he notices Jemma standing a little ways off, her hands holding on to a simple small bouquet of white lilies. Even from a distance, he can tell that she’s fighting back tears.

Moira looks over her shoulder, following his gaze. Then she turns back to him. “What do you say, Curly?” she asks him, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.

The corners of his mouth quirk up barely noticeably, and he nods.

* * *

Jemma had watched everything from a distance. She had stood right by the entrance in the small church; stayed way back during the sermon, during the funeral. Out of his sight. Feeling like maybe she had no right to be there, no right to intrude on his tragedy. But deep down all her heart desired was to stand next to him. She wished it were  _ her _ holding him steady, linking her arm with his, stroking his back. She wished it were  _ her _ being the comfort he needed.

Jemma watches as Moira reassuringly squeezes Fitz’s shoulder before turning around and walking towards her.

Moira puts her hand on Jemma’s shoulder in passing. “Go on,” she tells her and nods encouragingly in Fitz’s direction, before continuing on her path.

Jemma looks back to where Fitz is standing and for the first time since she arrived it seems as if his eyes are looking back at her, are pulling her to him instead of pushing her away. She takes a deep breath and nervously walks over to the open grave until she stands in front of Fitz.

“You remembered,” Fitz says quietly, pointing at the flowers in Jemma’s hand.

“Hard to forget,” Jemma replies, looking at the bouquet. “She always had lilies on the dining room table.” She clears her throat. “They’re a symbol for motherhood and renewal… rebirth,” she mutters absentmindedly. “Seemed fitting,” she adds and quickly bends down to place the flowers next to the grave.

She straightens back up, nervously folding her hands now that they’re no longer occupied. She can hear her own heartbeat, feels her head spinning.

“Thanks for coming,” he mumbles quietly and Jemma’s not sure if maybe she imagined the smile flashing across his face.

“Of course,” she replies. An anxious energy floods her body, as if she’s trembling on a micro-level.

“Moira likes you,” Fitz says matter-of-factly, tucking his hands in his pockets.

Jemma can’t suppress a smile. “That goes both ways then.”

They stand in silence for a moment, their eyes locked onto each other. Her lips feel dry despite the drizzling rain and nervously she wets them with her tongue.

“I’m sorry… for yesterday,” Fitz breaks the silence. “I didn’t mean to — ”

“No, no, Fitz,” Jemma interrupts him. “You were right. You had  _ every _ right to be angry. I… I did everything wrong. I shouldn’t have left. Not without telling you why. I wanted to, but it was so — ”

“Is it true?” Fitz asks, cutting her short.

“Is  _ what _ true?” Jemma whispers, looking to the ground to avoid his gaze.

“What Moira told me?” She can feel his eyes on her as he clarifies his question. It’s as if they are burning themselves into her soul.

“Well, I don’t know what exactly — ” She’s not sure why she’s still trying to avoid this conversation. Maybe she’s afraid of his answer. An answer to a question she hasn’t even asked.

“Am I the… the last person you fell in l-love with?” Fitz asks, and somehow his direct approach knocks down the wall of anxiety she had built around herself.

“Yes,” Jemma answers without hesitation. “You’re the last person I fell in love with, Fitz. And the first. And I couldn’t say it before, because we were so broken, both of us.”

She takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. “You know me inside and out, Fitz. You know everything from my childhood dreams to my most embarrassing stories, my hopes and fears. You know it all. And I know you. We’ve been through  _ everything _ together, and I can’t imagine anyone else I would have  _ rather _ been through everything together. No one I’d rather have by my side. I didn’t  _ want _ to leave. I felt like I  _ had _ to… for  _ you _ .”

“Moira said something like that,” Fitz interrupts her briefly.

“I  _ missed _ you, Fitz. So much.” Her wavering voice forces her to pause. “It felt like part of me was missing. … I mean… sometimes… I imagined that you were there with me.” She smiles briefly. “Next to me at the lab… You gave me comfort; reassured me that I was doing the right thing working next to those horrible,  _ horrible _ people.” She wipes away some tears. “And when I was alone in my apartment, I sat down with my take-out food and imagined we’d have dinner together, that we’d be talking about our days, about our projects.”

He rolls back and forth on his feet, his hands still tucked into his pockets. “I… I imagined you too. Hallucinated,” he admits.

His words surprise her at first, but then she smiles. “Maybe we really are psychically linked?” she suggests.

“M-maybe we just don’t want to be without each other,” he replies, taking a step forward. With his eyes locked onto hers, he slowly extends his arm and reaches for her hand. The warmth of his palm seems to rise from her hand, up her arm, until it fills her body, mind, and soul.

“I certainly don’t,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to lose you, Fitz.”

He doesn’t reply, and his silence seems to extinguish the warmth his hand had just given her. Tears begin streaming down her face.

“Is there still a chance for us, Fitz? Am I your last person, too?” she sobs, petrified to hear his answer.

“No,” he replies, and her heart stops, shatters to pieces. And then his free hand reaches for her face, tucks away a stray strand of hair, and she notices the tears he is fighting back. “You’re n-not the last person I fell in love with,” he says, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Nor the first.” He takes a deep breath. “You’re the only one.”

Her body trembles from the sobs she’s trying in vain to keep at bay.

Urgently, she frees her hand from his. She steps closer, cupping his face and leaning in to kiss him. She doesn’t expect his lips to be so soft, so warm, so welcoming. She doesn’t expect her stomach to flutter, her heart to beat quicker and slower at the same time.

It’s only a brief moment, just a gentle touch, and yet it feels like an eternity she doesn’t want to stop.

The need for air is what makes her break away, resting her head against his forehead, her fingers gently digging into his cheek, feeling his stubble.

She opens her eyes and suddenly remembers her surroundings.

Quickly, she takes a step back, her hands only reluctantly releasing his face. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I shouldn’t have… not here… not now.”

“Actually,” he says, his blue eyes shimmering, a tear rolling down his cheek and disappearing between his smiling lips. “I think she’d like it.” He takes a step towards her, and once again reaches for her hand, squeezing it gently. “All she ever wanted was to… to make p-people happy. I think she’d take p-pride in the fact that… even in her death she made someone happy.”

Jemma frees her hand from his and wraps her arms around his neck, her tears mixing with the raindrops on his coat. “I’ll miss her so much, Fitz,” she whimpers.

His arms reach around her waist, pulling her closer. “Maybe it’ll hurt less,” he whispers into her ear. “To miss her together.”

She leaves the warmth of his shoulder behind and looks up into his eyes. His hand reaches for her face, gently tracing her hairline. A tingling energy rushes through her when his fingers brush against the soft spot behind her ear, when they gently wrap around her neck, pulling her face closer to his. And once again, the world around her disappears when his lips melt into hers.

**Author's Note:**

> Fitz's childhood friend Moira has been my head canon forever, and I'm excited to introduce her. I hope you like her. She's really quite nice!


End file.
